


The Sock Shop

by multipledigits



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Foot Fetish, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pinto, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipledigits/pseuds/multipledigits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Zachary owns a sock shop. Written for antyureff. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sock Shop

Zachary carefully aligned the newest shipment of mauve and charcoal argyles on the pine display table, front and center. These were one of his favorite choices for spring, and he wanted his customers to see them immediately upon entering. Beside them, he selected three additional of his most dapper sock styles- a navy pair with rows of red, royal blue, cyan, cornflower, and violet dots; a heather grey pair with a black heel and toe; and a warmer oatmeal colored pair with a design suggestive of cable knit sweaters. As he stood there, contemplating if the navy socks looked better between the charcoal and heather socks... or between the heather and oatmeal socks, the soft bell on the front door chimed, indicating a visitor. Zachary turned to look, his long finger still curled around the cuff of the navy socks. 

The customer’s tall frame was draped with a well-worn black leather jacket. Underneath, the v-neck of his tight white t-shirt exposed the faintest whisper of chest hair. Zachary’s eyes were drawn down across the customer’s clearly taut abdomen, past the black belt, and down to the low-slung, light wash jeans that left very little to the imagination. Catching himself staring, Zachary flushed and averted his eyes to the floor for a moment. When he looked back up, the face belonging to the statuesque body was smirking at him. 

Zachary was slightly flustered, but attempted to regain his composure as quickly as possible. He thrust his hand toward the customer- “Welcome to The Sock Shop, my name is Zachary, how may I be of service?” -and noticed the customer was now not only smirking, but was running his tongue slowly across his lower lip as he observed Zachary’s outstretched hand. The customer reached across the gap between the two men and gingerly plucked the forgotten navy socks from Zachary’s palm. 

“Nice, but I’m not sure if these are quite my style,” the customer said as he turned the socks over in his hand. “Are you trying to tell me otherwise?” 

Zachary closed his eyes for a moment, mentally chastising himself for trying to shake hands while his were still full of socks. He could feel his initial flush creeping further across his cheeks. “They would look quite fine on a man of your...” Zachary stumbled over his words for a moment, “...of your fine tastes.” 

“Is that correct?” the customer asked slowly, his icy blue eyes intent on Zachary. “Hmm. I think I’ll take a look around, just the same.” He pressed the navy socks towards the salesman’s chest. As Zachary’s hand closed around the rejected socks, the other man’s hand softly withdrew. Zachary tried to resist a sharp intake of breath at the feeling of the customer’s warm fingertips brushing against his sternum. 

“Oh, of course. Let me know if I can be of any... assistance,” Zachary said breathlessly, a beat too late. The customer was already several paces away, eyeing a tall display of pinstriped dress socks. Zachary laid the navy socks down on the table slightly crooked, but he didn’t notice. The view of the customer was somehow just as captivating from the back as the front. Zachary was mesmerized as the customer stood, one hand on a cocked hip, the other hand raised, fingers twisted through his golden brown hair in contemplation. Zachary swallowed, hard. He couldn’t help but think how it would feel to knot his own fingers through those locks, roughly pulling the customer’s head backward, running his nose along the customer’s chiseled jawline, raking his teeth across the customer’s stubbled neck. 

If Zachary’s goal was to impede the rapidly spreading blush, he was failing miserably. As his mind betrayed him with lascivious fantasies, his cheeks and throat and even the tips of his ears blazed beneath his olive complexion. He tried to distract himself by straightening one of the already immaculate tables of socks, but was interrupted by the customer’s voice.

“Zach, was it?” the man called across the small boutique. 

“Yes sir?” Zachary turned, not bothering to correct the customer despite his usual annoyance when someone decided to truncate his name. In two strides, he was at the customer’s side.

“Are these...” the customer trailed off. Zachary adjusted his black rimmed glasses and peered over the shorter man’s shoulder at the bundle of black fabric he held. Of course, Zachary instantly recognized the pair of socks that the man held. They were from last year’s Star Trek line, the final remaining pair. “...is that the Enterprise? ...Seventeen-oh-one?” the customer finished as he squinted at the small repeating pattern of grey ships.

“Why yes, it is.” Zachary said, a smile spreading across his face. He would not have initially taken this broad-shouldered All-American type as someone with a running knowledge of fifty-year-old science fiction shows. “Although I must warn you, these socks tend to run a bit wide, which is why I still have a pair left.”

“First you try to sell me on some flamboyant polka dotted socks, now you’re telling me that the ones I do like won’t fit? You’re not a very good salesman, you know,” said the customer with a ‘tsk’ and a shake of his head. 

“Sir, my apologies, I didn’t-” 

The customer held up a hand to end Zachary’s statement. “I’m giving you a hard time, Zach. I think the socks will be fine. I wear eleven wides,” the customer said as he glanced down at his shoes. He took a step toward the register and then paused, looking back at Zachary. “Although...”

“Yes sir?” 

“Do you do fittings?”

“ _Fittings?_ ” Zachary asked.

“Fittings,” repeated the customer as he ran his fingers through his hair once again. The motion caused Zachary to nearly come undone. The request was a bit unorthodox, yes, but Zachary couldn’t refuse this gorgeous man. 

“Ah... I think that could be arranged,” Zachary said. “One moment.” He walked behind the counter and grabbed the small step stool he kept for reaching stock on the top shelves, placed it in the middle of the floor, and indicated the customer should sit. 

“So. Zach. Tell me about those horrible navy socks you want to sell me,” he inquired as he sat and begin to undo the laces of his white sneakers. 

Zachary felt like he might be getting used to the previously despised nickname, as the customer’s charming cadence caused the clipped syllable to sound quite sensuous. “They’re made by Jeff Banks, quite a popular designer in the UK, but not so much here.” The customer finished removing his shoes and socks and placed them beside the leg of the step stool. He now stared up at Zachary, a dark glimmer dancing behind his eyes. Zachary knelt on one knee in front of the customer and continued, “Their socks are quite nice. They’re a thinner sock made of a cotton-polyamide blend, so excellent for the upcoming warmer springtime weather...” 

“Sometimes I feel like it’s _always_ springtime,” the customer stated with a smirk. Zachary had little time to puzzle the meaning of this statement before he was swiftly distracted by the feeling of the sole of the customer’s foot against his light wool Brooks Brothers trousers, the instep gently wrapping around the curve of Zachary’s bent knee. The customer slowly slid his foot forward up Zachary’s thigh, pulling the cuff of Zachary’s pants up from his ankle in the process. He leaned slightly sideways to get a look at the grey plaid socks that peeked from the tops of a pair of shiny black wingtips. “Now _those_ are nice socks.” 

Zachary’s brain couldn’t formulate a proper response, he simply let out a soft grunt and took the customer’s foot in his right hand. He was surprised by the customer’s soft skin and neatly filed toenails. For the second time that morning, his initial expectations of the man had been shattered. As the salesman reached for the Enterprise socks sitting next to him on the floor, he ran his thumb absent-mindedly across the ball of the customer’s foot. Zachary felt the customer stiffen slightly, toes splaying and head tipping backward. 

With his free hand, Zachary unclipped the socks from the small plastic hanger, scrunching them slightly as to remove the crease. As he pulled the sheath of embroidered cotton down over the customer’s toes, the two men’s eyes met for a moment. The customer was staring down at Zachary’s lean frame ravenously, his pupils completely blown. Flustered, Zachary dropped his eyes back to the customer’s foot and finished rolling the sock slowly past his heel and ankle, finishing at the base of the customer’s well-muscled calf. He could feel his own erection beginning to strain against the fabric of his pants. 

“Mmm, I like what I see,” said the customer, and Zachary was unsure if the topic at hand was the socks or himself. He ventured another glance up into the customer’s eyes, which instantly confirmed the latter. As Zachary reached for the naked foot, the socked one began to creep up his thigh once again. Cupping the bare heel firmly, Zachary pressed his thumb into the arch of the customer’s foot, sliding it slowly and firmly upward. A moan escaped the customer’s lips. Encouraged, Zachary repeated the action. The customer closed his eyes and shifted his weight, his pelvis sliding forward on the stool, his thighs parting slightly wider, his back arching backward as he extended his right leg fully. His socked foot now rested in the fold of the salesman’s hip. The customer briefly pressed his foot against the growing bulge, and Zachary gasped at the sensation. 

The customer shrugged off his jacket, allowing it to fall in a heap on the floor behind him. Zachary’s eyes slid appreciatively over the man’s newly exposed biceps. The customer was absolutely and refreshingly different from his normal stuffed shirt clientele. The curiosity got the best of him, and he awkwardly blurted out, “What brings you to the area?”

As if he was reading Zachary’s mind, the customer tilted his head back up and answered, “Why do you ask? Do I stick out that much?” He ran a hand along his chest and down his stomach, and Zachary’s eyes couldn’t help but follow its trajectory. The customer’s fingers dipped beneath his belt, adjusting, exposing a soft dusting of hair below his navel.

“Something like that,” Zach responded, unable to tear his eyes away.

“The question is-” the customer paused, licking his lips again before continuing, “-did I come in here to admire _your_ merchandise, or so _you_ could admire _mine_?” With that, he leaned forward, hooked his hand around Zachary’s neck, and pulled Zachary toward him. The customer wrapped a leg tightly, possessively, around Zachary, stared down into his wide eyes, and kissed him roughly. Zachary could feel the man’s hard cock pressing insistently against his stomach. 

Zachary pulled away for a moment to gasp, “I don’t even know your name---?” 

“No, you don’t.” the customer agreed, and once again crushed his mouth against Zachary’s. He gave Zachary a push, and both the men toppled backward onto the worn Oriental rug. As their tongues intertwined, Zachary felt a hand brush aside his toasted-butter yellow tie and slide down the placket of his crisply starched white shirt. The hand continued until it found his belt, unbuckled it, and began to work on the fastenings of his trousers. Zachary thought about protesting, but suddenly there was only one layer of thin fabric between him and the customer’s hand, and then the fabric was pushed down and the customer was pulling him free, and the sensation of that strong palm wrapping around him... and the protest was forgotten.

The customer’s other hand was splayed across Zachary’s clavicle, its thumb and index finger placing a gentle pressure on his throat. Zachary’s breath hitched as the customer tightened his grip slightly- in both locations. Now the customer was stroking Zachary’s cock slowly, methodically, yet insistently, and Zachary’s head was swimming from its momentary lack of oxygen. The customer stared down at the enraptured man darkly, a mischievous look playing across his face. He released his hand from Zachary’s throat, and Zachary took a gasping breath. 

The customer leaned in, his breath hot against Zachary’s ear, and insisted, “Zach, you’re going to cum for me.” Then, as if to punctuate his request, the customer sunk his teeth into the soft skin at the base of Zachary’s jaw. Zachary moaned and closed his eyes, his hips bucking beneath the stranger in a wordless “ _please_.” 

The next thing he felt was the stranger’s soft, wet lips wrapping themselves around his shaft, and Zachary found himself unable to hold back. He emptied himself into the stranger’s hot mouth, a groan hissing from between his clenched teeth as wave after wave of pleasure rocked his body. Suddenly, the customer was back on top of him, tilting Zachary’s head up, and parting Zachary’s lips with a gentle finger. Zachary was surprised to taste his own musk, trickling slowly from the other man’s mouth and into his own. As he drank down the salty liquid, he could feel himself already becoming aroused again.

“Now,” the customer hissed in Zachary’s ear as he got to his feet, “I need you to do one more thing for me.” He extended a hand downward and pulled Zachary up to stand beside him. 

“Anything...” panted the salesman. 

“Ring up these socks.” The customer smirked once more, “I think I’ll wear them out, if you don’t mind.” He bent over to grab the lone forgotten sock off the floor and pulled it on his still bare foot. Zachary gaped at him for a moment, then crossed toward the cash register and typed in what were hopefully the correct numbers.

The customer turned toward the display table at the door and grabbed the pair of navy socks that still sat slightly askew. “These too,” he said with a grin, thrusting a credit card at Zachary before even hearing the total.

Zachary looked down at the signed receipt on the counter, stunned. The bell of the shop door dinged softly to indicate the customer’s departure.

“ _Rodolfo_ ” read the signature line, and underneath was scrawled a phone number.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta, Thrynnie.
> 
> If you would like to know more about my inspiration/sources for this work, you can read about them on my [Livejournal](http://multipledigits.livejournal.com/2105.html). 
> 
> Please comment if you enjoyed this. Thank you for reading! :)


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